A hilarious incident where we witness a milkman yearning to drench the author with the milk of human kindness (!), and the author’s plight. This piece is going to tickle your funny bone!
Morning Meanderings is a musings column by Dr Santosh Bakaya. Enjoy her jottings with a hot cup of tea. 🙂
The newspapers had predicted a slight haze today, and sure enough, it was quite hazy and dust particles clung to the air, with limp resilience. The birds were very talkative, may be something of the heat and dust of the excitement of elections had rubbed off on them.
Oh, there he was again! I did not know where to scurry for cover. Not exactly a stalker, but that behemoth of a man had been relentlessly following me every morning -bellows, barrel and belly – All humongous ones.
“Madam, aap kyoon nahi maantey! Aajkal itni milawat hai. Meri bhains ka doodh bilkul shudh hai. Ley lo, ekbaar try maar lo. Packet vaala doodh kitna bekaar hota hai, jaante ho na?”(Why don’t you listen to me, madam? These days there is a lot of adulteration. Packet milk is full of impurities. Why don’t you try this just once?) He was following me, with an orange coloured milk-can, bellowing continuously, his motorbike standing outside the apartments that had newly sprung up in the vicinity.
He was, perhaps one of the last few vestiges of that milkman of yore who went from house to house on an ancient, ramshackle Rajdoot motorbike, in sync with the rattling milk-cans, delivering milk to those customers who still continued to buy milk from such itinerant milkmen.
“Ek baar to try maar lo,” (Try once at least) he again bellowed, this time with greater gusto, and I quickened my pace. A staunch believer in non-violence in every form, I was about to retort, “Kyoon maaroon?” But reined in the salvo that sprang to my lips.
Instead, I tried to look around for a rabbit-hole, but alas, there was none, only a couple of manholes, down which I had seen many an unsuspecting woman falling! With a happy shudder, I concluded that my girth would come to my rescue there. But, this would definitely not solve the problem, would it? I had to escape the persuasive eloquence of this behemoth of a man, selling buffalo milk.
“Ek baar to try maar hee lo, try, madam!”
This was his third bellow and my last ounce of patience dried up like a water drop on a hot plate. I turned back to out-bellow him, but in the heat of the moment, forgot that brusqueness had never been my forte.
Just at that precise moment, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a buffalo looking balefully in my direction. Then, luckily, its eyes fell on the fat milkman with the orange milk can, and it lost its cool.
It started running towards him full throttle. An animated cartoon gone berserk, the man, with an agility belying his mammoth frame, picked up the milk can and made a dash toward his motorbike, but not before he had flung a threat behind his back, “Madam, kal lekar aata hoon doodh , kal try maarna!”. (Will bring the milk tomorrow. Give it a try!)
The neighbours did hear his fourth bellow, but I was safely inside the four walls of my house, safe from the intrusive power of bellows, bellies and barrels.
From my window, I sneaked a peek outside, and almost thumped the air with a triumphant fist. The haze had gobbled him up!
‘Serves him right’, I chortled, with malice towards none but the tenacious milkman!
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